


Pain, Potions And The Tempting Lure Of Black, Billowing Robes

by Moonlitdark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tending Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlitdark/pseuds/Moonlitdark
Summary: Harry really needed to stop getting hit by curses. Especially when they were meant for someone else. His habitual tendency to launch himself in front of people to save them from harm was beginning to annoy even him. The resulting pain often just didn’t seem worth it. Harry’s latest bout of heroism had been for the benefit of Crabbe, of all people. The growing abundance of repentant Death Eaters had only served to confuse the rightful order of things.But there was one advantage to sustaining repeated injuries. The current person who had been entrusted to tend the battle-wounded was a delight to behold. Well, okay not exactly a delight, but Harry appreciated the man's attributes immensely.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 16
Kudos: 129





	Pain, Potions And The Tempting Lure Of Black, Billowing Robes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted a long time ago on Livejournal. So if it seems familiar, you've probably read it before, but this version has a few edits.
> 
> This was originally written in response to a Livejournal prompt: “ _I can do something truly disgusting with my tongue_.” I have another story which contains the same line, so I thought it might seem a bit odd if I didn't mention why.

Although he couldn’t be sure, Harry was fairly certain that the moisture which he could feel soaking through his shirt was blood. He should probably be more alarmed by that fact than he was, but it was difficult to concentrate. His whole body seared with pain, made considerably worse whenever he tried to move. So, he gave up trying and focussed instead on lying extremely still. 

Harry really needed to stop getting hit by curses. Especially when they were meant for someone else. His habitual tendency to launch himself in front of people to save them from harm was beginning to annoy even him. The resulting pain often just didn’t seem worth it. Harry’s latest bout of heroism had been for the benefit of Crabbe, of all people. The growing abundance of repentant Death Eaters had only served to confuse the rightful order of things.

But there was one advantage to sustaining repeated injuries. The current person who had been entrusted to tend the battle-wounded was a delight to behold. Well, okay not exactly a _delight_ , but Harry appreciated the man's attributes immensely. Snape bustled around the room, gathering various items from different shelves as Harry continued with his self-appointed task of remaining completely motionless. Watching blurry black material swirl and billow as Snape stalked, Harry thought that maybe this injury had been worth it after all. Harry had always adored those robes; since he had also properly examined the wondrous new viewpoint which puberty had brought with it, anyway. Which _was_ a suitably long time ago.

Observing in silence and trying not to breathe too deeply, he distracted himself with imagining (hardly for the first time) how many layers of cloth he would need to peel away before he found the hidden skin underneath. This, Harry quickly discovered, was not a good idea. The fantasy caused his lungs to expand and contract with enthusiasm, and it distinctly hurt to breathe. 

A murmured, grumbling noise was filtering towards Harry through the searing pain. Harry attempted to hold his breath while looking attentive as the sound of Snape’s voice reached his ringing ears.

“Drink this. It will ease your discomfort.”

That sounded like a welcome suggestion, so Harry tried not to scream as Snape’s long-fingered hand scooped his head gently from the pillow, tilting his lips towards a glass. 

There followed what seemed to be a longish pause of inactivity. Immersed as he was in the conflict of despising the fresh wave of torture that the movement had produced and enjoying the surprisingly gentle touch, Harry hadn’t realised that there was something which he’d forgotten to do.

“Open your mouth.”

Ahh… that was it. Harry rectified the problem, prising his tightly closed lips apart, but even that small movement sent torturous shards to stab through his muscles and fresh, agonising air to fill his lungs. A predictably foul-tasting substance dribbled slowly into Harry’s mouth, pooling uselessly in the cavity. The fingers which shortly massaged his throat created another level of torture, but the flow of liquid was distracting, if not soothing.

Harry’s head was replaced onto the pillow and a few moments later, looking attentive seemed a lot harder to achieve for a whole new reason.

The world around Harry was becoming even more blurred than usual. His mind fogged, drifted and floated as the pain noticeably lessened to a manageable ache. Snape’s outline drifted in and out of focus, smudging and sharpening in steady waves. Harry sighed out his relief and the corners of Snape's lips curved slightly upwards. How odd. Perhaps Harry couldn’t see them properly. Maybe he’d stumbled onto some other fantasy entirely. Or possibly the first one just didn’t seem as far out of reach anymore.

“You should be feeling more comfortable now.”

That was an understatement. Harry was feeling _fantastic_ , if still a little bit sticky and damp around the edges. And that drawling voice was fascinatingly erotic. Harry wanted to make it say something else. More gorgeous, growled words to send shivers down Harry’s spine.

“Has your pain abated?”

Harry’s pain had indeed abated, but other parts of his body were awakening to replace it. Snape’s head drew near as sharp eyes examined the wounds, black strands hanging inches from Harry's chest. It had often scared Harry how much he wanted to bury his nose in that hair, but he couldn’t remember why the prospect should make him nervous. Maybe Snape’s hair wasn’t even greasy… it could be soft and shiny, pliable and flowing with dripping sweat as Snape plunged into Harry’s writhing body. But Harry realised that scenario may be getting slightly ahead of himself. Harry’s blissfully floating mind was becoming filled with the need to show Snape just how much he wanted him. There didn’t seem to be any point in waiting. Harry needed to show him _now_. First, he should express his desperate attraction. Make a proposition which might be found appealing and hope that he wouldn’t be poisoned in retaliation. 

“Potter? Can you hear me?”

He strived to compose an alluring sentence which would grab Snape’s attention and keep the man enthralled. But this was Snape. It couldn’t be just anything. Harry needed to do or say something special to capture the man of his depraved dreams, display some unique quality which no-one else could offer. He picked the best one that he could currently come up with. “I can do something truly disgusting with my tongue,” Harry announced cheerfully, dropping his lids to half-mast in what he hoped was an irresistibly lustful expression.

Even through the continued swaying blur, he could see Snape abruptly freeze, wand directed towards Harry's torso. “Pardon?”

The sentence might not have been Harry’s best achievement, but he’d work with what he had. Further encouragement was evidently required. “Wan’me to show you?”

“Mr Potter, I hardly think that any skills which your tongue may possess would interest me in the slightest. It appears that speaking is an adequate challenge.”

Dismayed, Harry murmured, “It’d be very ent’rtainin’,” and somewhat proved Snape’s latest point.

Snape was frowning in bafflement. “For whom?” 

Harry was clearly not explaining his intentions very well. “Us.”

“I think not.” Snape swirled his wand in patterns through the air over Harry’s torso, back and forth, tracing long, tickling lines. Giggling, Harry wished that Snape would start paying more attention to him than his chest. But then again, it was _his_ chest and having Snape ogling his body was very encouraging.

“I could do… something else instead.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Harry squirmed and tried to arrange his limbs into a position which would appear inviting and amenable to groping. He didn’t succeed in moving them much at all. “Dunno… I’m thinking…”

“Do not strain yourself. Lie still. I need to concentrate.” 

Harry wondered if being poisoned would hurt. But this man had made Harry’s pain go away. That meant Snape had to be good. Yeah, very good. And strong. And just a little bit sexy.

“How about you kiss me?”

An erratic blue spark emitted from the tip of Snape’s wand. The tickling stopped. “I will not do anything of the sort.”

“Or I could kiss you.”

“I believe that would amount to approximately the same outcome.”

“Okay.”

“That was not an agreement, Potter.”

Snape straightened, moving the tempting hair and the tickling away. Harry shifted his arms, found them to be slightly floppier than he’d previously recalled, but he somehow managed to manoeuvre both limbs sufficiently to prop his torso up by his elbows where he swayed. “But you might enjoy it. The kissing. I think that I would.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“That I’d enjoy it? Why wouldn’t I?”

That scowl was simply dreamy. “I doubt that _I_ would derive pleasure from it.”

“Oh.” Well, that was disappointing.

Snape’s fist closed around the stopper of a vial that he was holding. Harry wasn’t sure where it had come from. “You are under the influence of an extremely powerful pain suppressant and sedative. The initial effects of which I sincerely hope will diminish within a few minutes. Therefore, I am prepared to excuse and dismiss your actions, just this once. Now, _hush_.”

“No… wanted t’do that before.”

Snape tutted and tilted the vial, pouring clear liquid onto his left palm. That seemed fairly promising. 

“What did you want to do?”

“Sex. With you.”

A strong hand pressed upon Harry’s chest, roughly pushing him flat against the mattress - an action which didn’t help to deter Harry whatsoever. But Snape’s glare did produce an unsettling, if arousing, effect.

Snape bent low, his form blocking out most of the light as he hissed into Harry’s ear, “Do you think that the other people in the room are finding this conversation entertaining?” 

There were other people here? Harry hadn’t remembered that. Oh, well.

“No. It’s not for them, only us.”

“Not even us, Potter. As you have been subjected to a very traumatising situation, I feel that it would be best if you rested while I work.”

Harry couldn’t recollect any recent traumatising event. The tingle started again. “What’re you doing?”

“Healing your wounds, obviously.” It hadn’t seemed that obvious to Harry. Maybe that was why he couldn’t move about very well. The lack of movement was hindering his plans of seduction. It was difficult to look attractive when sprawled on one’s back. Or was that an advantage? Harry wasn’t certain.

“What was traumatising?”

“The Dark Lord. And the ensuing battle.”

“He wasn’t very nice.” A memory floated dimly and briefly, a notion of something Harry was supposed to do. “Did I kill him?”

The pleasant tingling ceased again. “Yes.”

“Oh. Good.”

“You did well.”

Snape was pleased with him, that was surely good. But Snape was evidently not enthralled. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“No reason, I suppose.”

Harry didn’t receive a reply. Or a reason. 

As the tingling commenced yet again, it wasn’t quite as enjoyable. The sudden, lingering silence and the harsh rejection gave way to contemplation as Harry’s mind gradually began to clear. The wand waved its pretty patterns above him as the weight of the day began to settle, creeping in to clog his thoughts with unwelcome memories. 

Harry wondered if the world would really be more peaceful now that he had finished his task, or whether it would find a replacement horror to haunt it. He didn’t care. At least, he wished that he didn’t. Harry had only wanted one thing. Just one, after everything else had been done. Although he hadn’t really believed that he would ever have it, he’d harboured the wish and let it spur him on. But it was becoming apparent that Harry's foolish desires would never become reality. Snape didn’t want him. After all, why should he? 

A dreaded sensation was beginning to sting at the corners of Harry’s eyes. He was in danger of finally abandoning the mask of calm strength which he had been hiding under for all these long months. No. Not here. Not in front of everyone. In front of Snape. He wanted to return to forgetting. Those few, wonderful minutes of innocent peace were fading, too fast. Harry needed more time, didn’t want to do this. But he’d never wanted to do any of it.

Trying to push it all back down where it belonged, Harry gulped in air and swallowed hard. But it wouldn’t go. Closing his eyes, screwing them tight to prevent what was rapidly becoming inevitable, he didn’t notice the hand which had been laid across his damp brow until Snape spoke. 

“You don’t need to be the hero anymore, Potter.” 

Harry found his voice again, almost lost beneath his growing grief. “I need to -”

The hand slid from Harry's forehead, fingers sinking into his hair. “No. They can do the rest by themselves. You’ve done enough.”

“But they’ll expect… they’ll want me to…”

“Then I will tell them all to bugger off,” Snape snapped. It wasn’t the harsh tone which shocked Harry, it was the strange fact that it had sounded like a defence on his behalf. The fingers retreated, brushing hair briskly from Harry’s sweaty skin before the contact vanished. “Sleep, Potter. We will attempt to conduct this conversation when you are more lucid.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Despite your inane approach, you did make an interesting suggestion. But now is not the time.”

A different tingle encompassed Harry's head, spreading down his body like a blanket as his consciousness faded into peaceful sleep.


End file.
